


Keep Your Head Above The Blue

by AetherAria



Series: things will be better [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (which i still believe is... canonical tbh), Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday, Multi, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 08:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18656623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: In a relationship, you take care of each other. Before that, you have to learn that it's okay to let yourself be taken care of.





	Keep Your Head Above The Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Extra warnings because I am a nervous bean: there's discussion of medication, discussion of eating habits which might be triggering for people with disordered eating, and a glancing mention of the possibility of self-harm, but no actual self-harm.
> 
> The narrative voice in this is very mean at times which is ENTIRELY in the head of the viewpoint character and not my own opinions to be perfectly clear. Also I am in no way a psychologist- I HAVE depression, but I'm not on any medication myself and I can't afford therapy, so like, I did my research but I'm just doing my best here. A lot of the... bad thoughts here are cribbed from my own brain. Projecting mental illness onto your fave fictional characters: it's what ya do!
> 
> Title is a slightly tweaked line from the song Library Magic by the Head and the Heart, 'cause I literally don't know how else to title shit at this point.

Arum feels the creep of darkness in his veins, some days. It’s part of who he is; a monster, born of the darkness and belonging to it, and there are times when it crawls beneath his skin and settles there, weighing his muscles until he can’t make himself move from the petals of his bed.

The world is too loud. Too full of conflict and pointlessness and chatter, and he wants the weight within him to seep out and curse the world dark, and silent, and easy.

In the time since Damien and Amaryllis, the feeling hasn’t lasted more than a few days at a time, thankfully. Arum, for the most part, can always wave it away as a bad mood or momentary distraction. Eventually, though.

Eventually it lasts. Eventually it creeps in, and it settles down to nest. He manages a few days without arousing suspicion in his mates. He is too curt with them, too distracted, but he apologizes and they believe easily that he only made himself over-tired, working late into the night and then oversleeping. They still have enough difficulty parsing his reptilian expressions that he can convince them that it is nothing more than exhaustion. Only exhaustion, and not a hollowness as if he is a termite-infested tree. For a few days longer he responds too slowly and they pull a little harder, trying to draw him out. Amaryllis holds his hand across the table when they eat together, an anchor he feels very distantly through a sort of fog. Damien recites a poem when they finish eating and Amaryllis laughs beside him at all the moments she should, and Arum can’t even remember the words the moment they are past.

They are so bright, his humans. They look _right_ together, and Arum is-

He thinks, out of nowhere, that Damien would have been better off if he had only carried through with that knife in the cell. If Damien had merely taken the blade, and _pushed_. It would have been better for everyone. The two humans could go back to how they had been before Arum interfered. The Keep would have produced a new familiar and the new creature would certainly have done a better job than Arum had; they would not work the Keep to killing itself, would not be so filled with conflict and casual cruelty and this dull, unending weight-

The thoughts pass as easily as Damien’s story, when they are done, and he doesn’t _mean_ any of it. Not really. He knows the Keep would have died if he and Sir Marc had not been here to protect it, and even if he does not feel it he knows that Amaryllis would likely have not forgiven Damien his murder, but there is a small, heavy part of Arum that remains convinced that it would have been easier to just let go.

 _If I still had the Hermit_ _…_ he thinks, sluggish even in his own head, but he does not allow the thought to close. It is a pointless hypothetical, and it’s not as if there is any guarantee it would work even if he did.

He slips off alone, finds a shadowed corner for the Keep to grow him a place to rest, curls into the petals and wills himself unconscious.

When he wakes, Damien’s hands are pulling the petals back open, filling his dark little space with dappled green light, and Arum can barely summon the energy to blink the stars from his eyes. Damien says something, curious, and it feels _important_ , but Arum simply… can’t.

Damien says something else, quieter, and then he’s climbing into the petals as well. He’s too close for Arum to ignore, suddenly, warm-blooded heat and blessed softness and he cups the sides of Arum’s head in his palms. He gently settles closer until their legs are tangled together and they are pressed forehead to forehead, and Arum feels just a little more solid, a little more real.

“What’s wrong?” Damien murmurs, his voice finally piercing the fog, and Arum hates himself because he has no answer. Nothing is worse than it has been, he has no _reason_ for this grayness that clings to him, no curse and no cause-

Arum curls his tail around Damien’s back to pull him closer, giving a rumbling purr deep in his chest to let the knight know that he has been heard, even if Arum can’t make himself respond.

Damien relaxes into the embrace, though Arum can still taste the worry on him. “Arum,” Damien begins softly, “I don’t wish to- to overstep. You aren’t ill, are you?”

Arum smiles wryly, dishonestly, then just barely shakes his head. They are close enough that Damien can feel the movement anyway. “Not ill,” he manages in a dry, cracked voice. What he _wants_ to say is that there is nothing wrong with him at all, but- clearly that isn’t true. Clearly he is flawed in some way, or he could just- rise, speak, become more himself again. “Nothing physical.”

Damien nods, as if somehow this is the answer he was expecting. “Rilla has been… worried,” he says, and Arum pretends not to wince. “She said that you- you had a look in your eye like you did when you were on trial. When you refused to defend yourself.”

Arum supposes that he felt similarly then, when he thought that both Amaryllis and Damien were lost to him, when he thought that he would be personally responsible for their deaths as well as the deaths of their entire species if all went according to the Senate’s plan- but at least then he had reason. Now, the weight is formless.

He can’t understand the shape of it, and so he cannot lift it.

Expressing any part of that feels exhausting, though, not to mention too embarrassing to stand, so Arum only sighs.

“I am worried about you as well,” Damien admits.

“Don’t, _takatakataka_.” Arum growls low in his throat, clutching him closer.

“I do, though. Of course I do. I…” Damien pauses to laugh, a little roughly. “I know what it is like, to fight a battle with yourself that no one else can see, even if my own thoughts plague me quite differently than I believe yours plague you.”

Arum thinks, _this does not feel like a fight_ , and shakes his head.

“Arum… both Rilla and yourself have been… instrumental in holding me steady when my fears betray me, in keeping me from succumbing to the falsehoods with which my mind tries to torment me. I only hope that you will trust me- trust _us_ to care for you in return, when you so need.”

Very distantly, Arum thinks that he should be riled to offense by the very idea that he needs help, needs care, but he can’t grasp the anger in his claws, can’t make it stay. Damien’s body heat is radiating into the space inside the flower, permeating Arum’s scales, making him sleepy again despite the many hours of rest he must have had between dinner and now.

“I only wish for you to be safe, and happy,” Damien says, a keening note in his voice. “And for you to know that you are loved.”

Arum’s throat suddenly feels tight, his eyes hot, his ribs constricting around his thudding heart, and he reflexively closes his eyes before they can do something ridiculous. Damien must have felt his body stiffen, though, because he makes a sympathetic noise, one arm wrapping around Arum’s waist and the other cupping his jaw just gently.

“Oh, my lily,” Damien says in a whisper, “I wish I knew better how to help you.”

Arum grits his teeth and growls, as if that will make it better when he feels the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Anything you need from me, anything at all-”

“If you say another word I swear I will bite you, honeysuckle,” Arum says in an embarrassingly uneven voice.

“If that helps you in any way, so be it,” Damien declares, and Arum chokes on a laugh that devolves into something else. He nips Damien’s ear so as not to make himself a liar, then presses his snout into the crook of Damien’s neck where it is warm warm warm and he is surrounded by the scent of leather and vanilla and the faint hint of Amaryllis that clings to his skin as well, where he can just breathe as his poet holds him and pretend that he is not debasing himself with something as ridiculous as tears. Damien makes a humming noise and Arum is close enough to feel the vibration of it, soothing and overwhelming at the same time. “There, love, I have you,” he says in a gentle sing-song, stroking his hands down Arum’s back. “I have you. You are unpracticed, I think, in allowing others to take care of you, so I do not hold your reluctance against you. You must know, however, that I have learned from the very best in the art of care and comfort, and so you may take from me whatever you need. I will still be here when you are yourself again, and I will love you the whole way through.”

“And if I-” Arum’s breath hitches and he buries the noise in a more intentional sounding hiss. “If I cannot lift this fog from my mind, honeysuckle? What then? My entire long life this has sat on my shoulder like a parasite and struck whenever it pleases, and then I am merely- _this_. Wretched and empty and unshakably tired-”

“Do you love me less when my tranquility leaves me, Arum?”

“Of course not,” Arum growls quickly, buffeting his cheek against Damien's. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I do not ask for the purpose of coaxing comfort for myself,” Damien says, “but only to make the point. You are suffering, Arum. It is not your fault, and it does not change how I feel about you. I love you even when you are unhappy, my lily. I love you when you are tired, when you are irritable and stubborn, when you are distant, when you need affection but are too proud to admit to it.” Damien chuckles when Arum growls at that. “I love you, and nothing will change that.”

Arum breathes slow, the tightness in his throat easing as Damien’s hands stroke gentle circles on the scales of his back.

“Is there any more room in there, or is it a bit too crowded?” Rilla says, muffled from outside the flower-bed, and Arum jolts in surprise. Damien smiles, putting a hand on the petals around them and pushing until the flower blooms wide, allowing Rilla to quirk an eyebrow and smile down at the two of them tangled together. “Looks cozy,” she says.

“Amaryllis,” Arum mutters, eyes flicking nervously away. It’s bad enough for Damien to see him acting this atrociously weak (he can still feel the wetness of tears on his face, _ridiculous_ ), but for his shortcomings to be laid bare before the both of them-

Rilla’s smile softens, and she lifts a little tray he hadn’t noticed yet. “I brought coffee and breakfast. Thought some caffeine might help, at least a little. Keep?”

The Keep gives a short soft song and raises a little shelf of vines beside the flower so Rilla can set the tray down, and she thanks it before she climbs onto the petals beside the lizard and the knight, gently shoving them to make room. She pushes until they’re halfway sitting, Damien sideways in Arum’s lap, an arm around his back. Then she slots her own arms neatly around Arum from the other side, kissing his shoulder and humming softly.

After a moment she pulls a hand back and grabs one of the steaming mugs, and then she presses it firmly into his hand. Ordinarily he prefers tea to the bitter beverage Amaryllis enjoys so much, but… he is _tired_ , and he trusts Amaryllis to know how to mend things. He flicks his tongue through the steam and takes a mildly begrudging sip.

“So,” she says after a long moment of quiet, sliding her fingers through his own and squeezing his hand. “Do you want to talk about what’s been going on with you lately?”

Arum takes another sip to delay answering the question, but she’s still looking expectantly at him when he finishes. “Not particularly,” he grumbles, and then he hugs the knight in his arms possessively. “Our little poet said more than enough for the both of us already.”

And Arum is grateful for those words; they feel like bright spots amid the grey, points of light he can summon back through memory, but Arum does not know how to put that gratefulness to words of his own. He does not share Damien’s skill.

“I think…” Rilla sighs, “I think you should try to talk about it anyway, Arum. I know it’s difficult, I know you’ll hate to do it, but… I think it could help. Or, at least it will give us an idea of how _we_ can help.”

“There isn’t anything _wrong_ ,” Arum growls. He winces the moment the words leave him.

“That… does not seem quite true, my love,” Damien says gently.

“I cannot tell you how to _help_ me,” he exhales, ducking his head. “because I do not _know_ what is wrong with me.”

“Okay,” Rilla says. “Okay. So- what are your symptoms, Arum? There are a few things I can infer, but I’d rather not assume anything.”

“ _Symptoms_ , I’m not _ill_ -”

“Humor me,” Rilla says, her thumb pressing lightly on the back of his hand. “Please.”

He hisses out a long breath. “I… it…” he cannot find the words to explain the grayness, the weight. Instead, he tries to think what came with them; how other parts of his life have suffered when this _thing_ strikes. “I have been… having difficulties keeping my mind attentive, I suppose. I cannot work on my projects, and I… I don’t care much for any of them. I have eaten because you expect me to dine with you, but I have not felt hungry, though I know I should have. And I am weary, Amaryllis.” His eyes slip shut, defensive. Saying all of this – admitting this much weakness – if this were anyone but Amaryllis and Damien he would sooner cut out his tongue. “I am weary to my bones. Even now, despite all rest. Too weary to lift my head, at times.”

Rilla inhales, deep and steady, and when she exhales she breathes out, “Thank you. I know that’s not the easiest sort of thing to talk about.”

Arum grumbles noncommittally under his breath, then finishes the coffee and sets the mug aside so he can ensure that two of his hands are free to hold each of his loves.

Rilla squeezes his hand after another long pause, almost like a warning. “I think you have depression, Arum,” she says, her tone blank and professional.

“ _What_?” Arum says, spine going rigid, and then, “Don’t be ridiculous.” And then, “It’s not- I couldn’t possibly-”

The Keep warbles a triplet of dawning realization, and Arum scowls as his tail lashes a denial.

“Mental health might not be my exact area of expertise,” Rilla admits wryly, “but I do have a little experience at least, and I can recognize common symptoms easily enough. Have you-” she hesitates, “have you been thinking about- hurting yourself?”

He flinches, genuinely surprised. “No, of course not.” He pauses. “I- not hurting myself. Nothing- nothing so- nothing so _active_.” Arum can feel Damien’s posture going bit by bit more tense in his arms, but- “Only- only I have perhaps been thinking of- of moments when- this is _impossible_ , Amaryllis. I can’t talk about this.”

“Take your time, my lily,” Damien murmurs roughly, his face hidden against Arum's shoulder. “We aren’t going anywhere. Take your time.”

“… I have been thinking more than is normal about death in the general sense,” he admits in a detached voice. “About times when I was close to death. About- about what would be different, if I…”

“ _Arum_ ,” Damien breathes, his hands warm and steady against Arum’s chest. “Oh, love-”

Rilla nudges Damien’s shoulder with a hand before he can get too carried away. “All of what you described just now lines up really solidly with depression.”

“But there is no _reason_ for me to-”

“That’s not how it works, Arum.” Rilla smiles, the expression a little strained, a little pained. “Sometimes the brain just- doesn’t function the way it’s supposed to, same as can happen to the body.”

“As we all, by now, are aware,” Damien adds wryly.

The Keep sings a trill of _trust_ , of hopeful warmth towards Amaryllis and her skill, and Arum sighs deeply.

“If that is your diagnosis, doctor, then I must trust to it,” he rumbles quietly, and Amaryllis breathes a laugh at the word _doctor_. “But what does that help? I- so I know the name, but-”

He can know the shape of it, now. That thought makes him pause, brow furrowing.

“There are some pharmaceutical treatments of varying effectiveness for depression in humans,” Rilla says, voice slipping back to professional for a moment, “but trying to figure out how to modify those for the brain of a reptilian magical construct is- it would be a bit much, even for me. Too far outside my usual wheelhouse, unfortunately. _But_ ,” she says when he tries to turn his face away, “but knowing will help, Arum. Knowing, and _talking_ about it, which- don’t make that face at me!”

“I simply don’t see how _demeaning_ myself will be of any use at all.”

She flicks the tip of his nose and he gives a little snarl automatically. “If Damien got _stabbed_ when he was out doing his knight nonsense it wouldn’t be _demeaning_ himself to come tell me he needed me to stop the bleeding and treat the wound, Arum.”

“You said not _moments_ ago that you don’t have a way to treat-”

“I said that I probably wouldn’t be able to make medication that would work for you. That doesn’t mean that we can’t figure out ways to _help_ you. And telling us _when_ you’re hurting is only way for us to even begin that process.” Arum huffs, and Rilla scowls in response before she stops herself, taking a breath and then quirking a small smile. “See? Even this. You’ve- you’ve been so- I’ve missed arguing with you.” She pauses. “I’ve just missed you. I know you’ve been here, it’s silly, but-”

A pained noise slips from Arum’s mouth without his say-so. “Amaryllis. I- I apologize. I did not expect… I did not think this would persist for long enough that either of you would notice. It was not my intention to- to cause you worry.”

“We’re always gonna worry about you,” Rilla says softly. “That’s part of the deal. You care about someone, of course you worry about them.”

“That…” Arum scrapes his claws lightly, carefully down Damien’s back, and nuzzles his snout against Amaryllis’ temple. “Yes. I have learned that quite well.”

“Promise you’ll try to talk to us when it gets bad like this, Arum?”

“I will… try,” he says, wincing. “As our poet so gracefully put it, I am unpracticed in allowing others to care for me. But I will try.”

“And we will do what we can to help,” Damien says. “If you need be reminded to keep yourself fed, if you need be told that there are people who care about you, if you wish to sleep for hours in the sun and have meals and affection brought _to_ you, if you need distraction from darker thoughts…” Damien lifts his head just enough to press a kiss to Arum’s jaw. “Anything at all, if you only ask. We love you. If there is anything we can do to make your life less difficult- that is what love is _for_ , my lily. Love is a path walked side by side, a journey you ease by taking it together, step by difficult step.”

“And step one, I think,” Rilla says, “is for the three of us to actually eat the breakfast I brought before all of it gets cold. And I don’t care if you’re not hungry, Arum, you need to eat too.”

“No, I…” Arum gives a single breath of laughter. “I do feel somewhat hungry this morning, as it happens.”

Rilla smiles, bright as morning, and Arum can’t help but nuzzle against her cheek until she chuckles and places a kiss at the corner of his mouth. She taps the tip of his nose again, then, teasing, before she untangles their limbs and starts passing her loves the food she and the Keep prepared.

Damien asks a question about one of Rilla’s experiments as he blows across the top of his tea to cool it, as if this were any other morning, and Rilla sighs dramatically before she launches into her answer. Arum eats, and listens, his mouth curling into a slow smile of his own.

There is warmth and sunlight and laughter, there is the gentle pleased song of the Keep, there is filling food and a long unmapped day ahead of all of them, and Arum feels-

Arum feels more than he has in near a week. More than he knows what to do with.

He is not _fixed_ , his mind is still unmended and may sink down again without warning. He knows that none of this will be easy-

Not _easy_ , but Amaryllis and Damien are determined to make it _easier_ , to hold out their hands for Arum to lift himself with. That is better than was true yesterday, Arum thinks. It is one more step, a stumble and catch, down this path they are walking together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I was kind of nervous about this one so tbh some feedback would be absolutely lovely! I'm going to mark this as complete, but there's a chance there will be two companion pieces to this one, because I want to see each of our flowers being taken care of lovingly and tenderly. I just related most to the way Arum needed it, so his came the first and easiest.


End file.
